


Alpha Apothecary

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Upon Request [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Casual Sex, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Deputy Derek Hale, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Felching, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Food Sex, Gender Role Reversal, Gender Roles, M/M, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Repression, Rimming, Social Commentary, Social Issues, Sweat, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 09:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Derek had to find himself a new dream after his work in the deputies office came to an abrupt and violent end. As shocking as it had been, the truly astonishing part was that the next phase of his life might involve breaking down barriers by owning the only Alpha Rut cafe for miles and miles.





	Alpha Apothecary

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was requested over at my tumblr, (drivenbyadevilshunger). If you'd like to leave me a prompt of your own, hit up my inbox!

“Don't be so nervous. Y'know, they say stress make your _stuff_ taste funny.” Derek jumped, ears flushing red as he felt Stiles at his back. Oh-so-gentle fingers drifted up and down his shoulders, eventually coming down to idly play in the patch of hair just above his ass. He tried to play it cool, just hummed softly as he continued what he was doing, fussing with a frame on the wall.

His old squadmates stared back at him from behind the glass, all of them in their academy graduation finest. It was rare to have a retirement party for someone Derek's age, but staying on the force after a sting gone wrong wasn't really an option. His leg still ached most days, a twisting of mangled muscle ugly on one thigh.

As if reading his mind, the way Derek's mate always did, Stiles' hand then made its way down there, finishing it's journey right where the flesh all wrinkled and bunched. Deft movements massaged the tensity out slow and sure— confident that they knew just how. “It's gonna be fine. Beacon Hills is a small town, yeah, but you know everyone in it, and they all know you. Babe, you're literally the guy grannies called to rescue their cats from trees. No one's gonna throw bricks in our windows.”

Derek's logical brain knew Stiles was right, but the stronger bit—the animal part—couldn't get the image of all his old friends and colleagues coming just to laugh, to spit at him, make sure he felt ugly for having this dream. Spring Heat cafes might have been the hottest thing to trend lately, but ruts weren't quite as cute, as blushing and breathy.

Alphas weren't meant to be sweet, serving. His old job—his only aspiration as a child—that was what society expected of young alphas like him. Something masculine, something aggressive, territorial, protective. And he'd loved it, honestly. But after his injury, after his whole life got upended, he needed something different. Derek _was_ different.

A lot of people would call him a pig for even trying this, but Derek hadn't been able to get the idea of it out of his mind, not for the past year and change since he was benched for good. At first it was just Stiles teasing him about how long he spent on pinterest, looking through aesthetic boards with his reading glasses on and taking little notes. But then he started testing recipes, just for fun, for something to do while Stiles was at work all day. It felt good to provide for him in that way, to fill Stiles' belly and make him all plump, content, drowsy.

Before he even realized what it really meant—what this fully encompassed—he was pricing out deals with local farms and touring buildings for lease. Stiles encouraged him the whole way, even putting his money where his mouth was and offering up his savings to get it off the ground.

Derek Hale was officially unemployed for sixteen months, but today he became an entrepreneur. Today Alpha Apothecary was opening its doors. Coffee was hot, sitting ready in carafes. Pastries glistened behind glass domes. Derek fidgeted with the knot on his apron—thick grey material the only thing covering his naked body.

Sweat already glistened at his temples, trickled lethargicly between cleft of his pecs. But that wasn't his nerves. That was his rut. Stiles gave him an adoring smile, a chaste peck on the lips, cupped the massive heft of his swollen nuts and squeezed. “Time to show the world what they're missing, babe.”

~~~

Derek could barely keep up, dancing between tables as Stiles manned the register and their guests clamored for more. Every four-top was taken, the lounge area stuffed, coffee flowing almost faster than they could brew it.

The sheriff's department had shown up in force, eager to support their old friend in his new endeavor, bringing along every civilian that adored Stiles' dad, his deputies. Derek could hardly contain himself in the wake of it—flushing and glowing and tenting his apron as he served them all danishes, warm and flaky. He didn't hesitate before fiddling with the little snap in front of his crotch, opening a window of fabric to free his drooling cock, wanting to show he could add that finishing touch.

Shiny strings of translucent pre flowed from the swollen tip in ribbons, and he glazed their snacks with it quickly. The slight salt, warm musk of his rut paired well with the sugary treats, cut through the richness and acted as a stimulant, aphrodisiac, flavor enhancer all in one. Three of the men eagerly dug in while another shyly asked for extra, reaching out to tug on Derek's dick before he could put it away. He put his pastry right at the cock tip, squeezed at the alpha's sticky foreskin to give himself a sizable dollop.

Derek moaned softly, bucked his hips just a little, chewed on his bottom lip with his buck teeth. “Thanks so much, and can we get a refill when you've got the time?” Derek nodded, made a mental note of it as he tucked himself away and grabbed another tray from the kitchen.

Every few minutes he could hear the ring of their old cash register, checking a customer out just as the bell above the door tinkled to herald their immediate replacement. But Derek didn't panic, even harried as he was. Instead he felt bolstered, bursting at the seams with such a reaction. He thought, maybe, the town would indulge him. At best he'd be able to lure a few regulars that made him break even, though turning a profit would have been ideal.

This? This was something else all together. Like Stiles had been assuring him for weeks as the grand opening loomed closer and closer—this town loved him, and they were going to make sure he felt it. “Derek? Derek! Can I get some sweetener please?” Jordan Parrish blinked at him from across the room, baby blues all ashine at seeing his partner blissful and budding.

Derek grinned as he made his way over, touching the wrist of every hand that groped him on his journey, making eye contact to assure them he'd make his way over. Jordan sat on his own, black coffee in a cup on a saucer, newspaper set to the side, slice of quiche half eaten. “Hey, sorry about the wait, it's a real mad house in here.”

Jordan positioned his cup at the end of the table, made it easy for Derek to back up to. They made idle chatter as he stood on his toes to set his ass just at the rim of it, reaching behind himself to spread his ample, meaty cheeks as he slowly unclenched. Parrish watched with wide eyes as thick, pearly condensed milk started to drizzle from his ass, catching in the dense black hair every so often as it spiraled to the bottom of his cup.

Derek shivered, whimpered, held himself a little wider when Parrish swirled a finger around his rim to cut off the last drippings. The sheriff's deputy sucked at that digit with hollowed out cheeks, and before Derek could back away, pulled him closer to taste straight from the tap. Jordan had always had a sweet tooth and Derek gasped as the man ate at his sticky hole a while, scooping the sweetener from his entrance and laving at every tacky wrinkle.

He got a kiss to the dimples of his lower back and an affectionate bite to one asscheek for his indulgence of time, and Derek knew that would be followed with a generous tip. Many more faces whirled by as the morning rush came and went, everyone eager to show their support, but eventually having to get into the office.

Derek whisked sweat into hollandaise that he ladled over eggs. He warmed biscuits beneath his pulsing nutsack and let patrons butter them with the pats slowly melting in the creases of his thighs. He poured drinks down his back, letting them flow down his spine and filter through his asscrack before filling the cup. Whipped cream was licked off his tits, his belly, his throat, his pits.

And of course, beyond all that, he came—across every table top an into every piece of ceramic ware they had owned. An alpha in rut always had semen to spare, but Derek swore he'd never felt quite so fulfilled as he did toward closing time on that day. Ribbons of spunk folded into souffle batters. Gouts of it cutting through a pan sauce. Spatters artfully acting as last minute seasoning and plate presentation.

Derek milked it himself in the kitchen, had Stiles suck it out of him and drool back out into creamers that could be dispersed among tables, was fucked hard and fast by patrons wanting to make sure he could provide for the whole table.

The hands, the cocks, the mouths. Just as they had partaken of him by eating here, so Derek had sampled of them during his service. Whether it was just cursory adjustments made like the man getting a little extra precum, or more indulgent affairs like Jordan being adorably greedy—Derek got to know his friends and neighbors even better than he had on the force.

Chris Argent stroked his belly and yoked on his balls when he was feeling a little wrung out after lunch. Theo Raeken asked for an impromptu interview when he noticed how busy they got, dropping trow in front of the counter and letting Derek and Stiles sample his sweat, his slick, his spunk to determine if he might match their profile close enough. Derek's uncle even came in to watch with glee, smacking Derek's ass every time he walked by and hollering like a town crier for everyone to “take a look at this fine stock and tell me you don't want a taste every day for the rest of your life!”

Stiles even put his little omega cock on display for everyone when he needed to bend Derek over by the espresso machine, restock their frothed milk by fucking it into Derek's asshole—working plenty of air into the cream as he was already loose from their breakfast rush.

The day went by in a blur, but Derek was sure he'd remember every bit of it for years to come. As the street lamps flickered on and the house bulbs dimmed down, the mated pair wiped down tables tops in silence, tossed garbage bags out back, triple checked the till to make extra sure the numbers were right. If things went as well every day as they had during this opening, Stiles could quit his gig at the library and they could make this an honest joint venture, their singular passion.

Derek thought he couldn't possibly blush more, couldn't feel a deeper heat rush through his body. He'd worked through so many fevers today, gone bleary eyed from need and pleasure, got strung out by some coworker, cousin, cul-de-sac friend. But having Stiles grin at him, eyes sparkling with such pride, clutching at receipts and gently crying—well it made his stomach flip all over.

Derek pushed away the business for now, stuffed his need for fulfillment to the back of his mind, and hauled his mate up onto the counter. “None of this would have happened without you. You know you're my everything, right? No matter what we do, where we go. It's always gonna be me and you.”

Stiles buried his reddening face in Derek's nape, wrapped his thighs around his waist, cackled joyously as he was quickly relieved of his clothing. Derek dropped his apron, spread those supple thighs, and decided someone else earned themselves a little doting at the end of the day too.

They christened the cafe for a good portion of the rest of the night, deciding after such a great success, it couldn't hurt to open a little later tomorrow afternoon. After all, if Stiles got knocked up, well they'd have a whole new menu they'd be able to offer. Derek heard omega milk treats were gonna be the new, hot thing, and chasing trends seemed to work pretty great for the two of them.

 


End file.
